


Comrades in Arms

by Bright_Elen



Series: Flying Blind [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Banter, Burns, But also, Disfigurement, First Time, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV K-2SO, Serious Injuries, Vibrators, do not copy to another site, internalized ableism, little bit of, or as close as Cassian gets anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bright_Elen/pseuds/Bright_Elen
Summary: K-2 and Cassian, after Scarif. After the Mandalorian. After years as friends.And now, something new.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/K-2SO, past Cassian Andor/Din Djarin
Series: Flying Blind [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698328
Comments: 32
Kudos: 95





	Comrades in Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Workshopped with and betaed by [robotboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/), who has been kind enough to invite me to play in their sandbox.

The prison ship rescue was remarkable only for Cassian's cellmate. There had been other cellmates, of course, but they had behaved predictably, either betraying Cassian in an attempt to collaborate with their captors, or leaping at the chance to escape. This one, the Mandalorian, had been stubbornly different. 

That was probably at least part of why Cassian had wanted to bring him in the first place. 

Cassian said he didn't know why the Mandalorian refused, but after replaying his memory of the rescue and isolating the audio from the cell, K-2 discovered the lie. Or, at least, the fact that the Mandalorian had given his reason. Cassian seemed to have genuine difficulty believing that the Mandalorian's anti-droid prejudice could be so strong.

It was a blind spot that had put them all at risk while Cassian tried to persuade his cellmate, but K-2 found that he didn't want to correct it. 

_He_ is _my friend._

The likelihood it would become a liability again later was small, anyway.

* * *

Scarif was remarkable for numerous reasons. 

* * *

Back on Yavin, Cassian went into a bacta tank. K-2 went to the droid bay. The mechanics, bereft of far too many ships, had plenty of time to repair a few blaster holes.

And K-2 had ample time to dwell on all the things he could have done to obtain a more favorable mission outcome. Time to torment himself with simulation after simulation of all the different ways Cassian (or Jyn, or Bodhi) could have died. Of the ways K-2 himself could have been destroyed.

Those were still better than dwelling on the actual events; non-events didn't affect the present or future, and K-2 wasn't at all certain what the best course of action would be regarding what did happen.

_K-2 was the last out of the data tower. When he climbed out onto the transmission platform, he was just in time to see the caped Imperial officer striding around the corner from the elevator, blaster raised._

_K-2 lunged forward, catching the shot meant for Cassian. It seared through his abdominal assembly, narrowly missing his gyro, and disabling his left hip joint. He fell to one knee, but he still had the blaster Jyn had given him, and he raised it._

_The Imperial shot him again, this time in the chest plate, disabling his cooling system. The officer had probably been aiming for his battery, but he and Cassian had moved its housing several centimeters down for just this reason._

_"KAY!"_

_K-2 had never heard Cassian shout his name like that. Never so raw and desperate, like he was about to lose everything._

_K-2 barely noticed himself shooting the Imperial in the head. Cassian had skidded to his side, hands hovering over the smoking holes in his chassis, distressed._

_"I am at seventy-one percent functionality," K-2 said. To demonstrate, he pushed unsteadily to his feet and started limping to the nearest scomp. "Help Jyn transmit the data. I'll recall the enemy troops and tell Bodhi we need a pickup."_

_Cassian glanced at Jyn but didn't join her._

_"Stop lollygagging," K-2 said. "I'm fine."_

_"You'd better be," Cassian said, and then turned towards the transmission dish._

Cassian hadn't behaved like that before. Had never risked the mission even slightly to make sure K-2 was alright. What did it mean, if anything? 

K-2 needed to know. To see if he could keep Cassian from taking more such risks in the future, of course.

* * *

Three days later, K-2 was at 98% functionality and able to observe Cassian's decanting.

Medi-droids placed him on a gurney with an opening for his face and covered his back with bacta-soaked sterile cloths. Saline, painkillers, and nutrients were delivered intravenously, as well as sedatives. Every hour, a droid or nurse changed the wound dressings. This continued for a standard week. 

First news of Alderaan came, along with the implication that the Empire had captured Leia Organa, and K-2 was glad Cassian was unconscious. Then the Death Star arrived — how many times was he going to see that monstrosity? — and the patients were loaded onto an evacuation ship. Even sedated and under analgesic, Cassian's body tensed in pain as he was moved, and K-2 berated the orderlies responsible at length. 

They hadn't even taken off when what remained of the attack fleet destroyed the superweapon. 

K-2 got into another argument with the orderlies; this time, he stalled until the brass realized what he'd already calculated: the Empire knew where they were, they would all need to evacuate soon, and there was no reason not to get the patients offworld right away. 

They docked with the hospital ship. K-2 supervised Cassian's transport to a patient room, this time with fewer of Cassian's silent grimaces, and therefore also fewer people K-2 yelled at. 

On the second day there, K-2 made friends with an MSE series who helped him locate a scomp he could charge from. He was loath to spend time away from Cassian, but he would be of no use if he ran out of power. MSE-35 stood watch from the corner of Cassian's room, sharing their optical feed with K-2, and he recovered enough power for another few days without incident.

Eleven days after Scarif, the doctors deemed Cassian healed enough to spend a few hours of each day conscious, and tapered off the sedative.

Before he was fully awake, Cassian pawed at the mattress like he was kneading it, or trying to push it away. K-2 came to stand at the head of the gurney, where his feet would be visible. Cassian's motions became more vigorous, then stopped entirely. 

"Kay," he said, relief clear in his voice despite the drugs. "You al'ri'." He swallowed, no doubt on a very dry throat. K-2 pinged a medi-droid for water. "Jyn? The others?"

"Jyn was on Base One as of four days ago, as was Bodhi Rook. We aren't due to rendezvous with the rest of the fleet for another four days." 

Cassian's breathing evened out, then caught. "The others?"

K-2 pitched his vocabulator quieter. "The four of us are the only ones who left Scarif's surface."

Cassian fingers dug into the mattress. "No one?" His voice trembled. "Melshi, Pau, the Guardians— ?"

K-2 shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, Cassian."

Cassian's shoulders shook once, the jarring motion prompting a hiss of pain, tension while he tried to hold back the sobs.

"Approximately sixty-three percent of the skin on your back was badly burned by the blast from the Death Star," K-2 informed him. "You spent three days in a bacta tank, and the last ten days sedated. You are expected to recover the full protective function of your skin." 

Cassian was quiet for a long time. Then, "How long?"

"You will be under medical care for the next four weeks while your scars develop. Approximately seven months will pass before the scars have fully stabilized." 

"When will I be ready for missions? The Death Star—"

"Was destroyed four days ago," K-2 interrupted.

Cassian went very still. "It's gone?"

"Entirely. One hit to the reactor, just as Erso intended." 

Not entirely to K-2's surprise, Cassian lost what little control he had and burst into tears, arms curling around his head. His silent sobbing was interspersed with whimpers of pain as his burns rubbed against the bacta cloths, but he couldn't hold back the flood of emotion. 

K-2 lay a hand on Cassian's forearm. His fingertips brushed Cassian's hair, still stiff with dried bacta.

Cassian was forbidden from showers, water or sonic, until his skin was whole again. He would have to maintain personal hygiene with wipes or precision sonic emitters, like the ones embedded in the arms of certain classes of medi-droid.

Given that no one had yet arrived with water for Cassian, K-2 began searching the ship's inventory for such components he could install in himself. 

* * *

Six days later, Cassian was lying on his good side. He'd been awake for nine minutes but hadn't used a voice command for the lights or asked K-2 to turn them on.

K-2 hadn't offered, nor had he activated the external lights of his optics. 

"You use the lights thirty percent less than you did before Scarif," K-2 observed. "Or should I say, before the prison ship." 

Cassian turned a hand palm-up, the gesture he'd adopted in lieu of a shrug. Of the two of them, only K-2, with his infrared optics activated, could see it.

"I would have expected you'd use the lights more, after seventeen days without." 

"The darkness wasn't the problem." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, careful to avoid the edge of his burns. Sighed. "What's the point, anyway." 

K-2 didn't like the sound of that. "This is usually the point during recovery when you're demanding a datapad so you can stay current with mission reports." 

Cassian huffed. "They don't let suspended officers read reports." 

"Since when has that stopped you?"

"Since they put medals on the memorials for Red Squadron but not Blue." 

"Artoo-Deetoo and See-Threepio didn't get medals, either, and the organics would never have made it off the Death Star without them." K-2 said.

Cassian grunted.

"You've never cared about medals before." 

Cassian sighed. "Didn't do it for a medal. It had to be done, and I'd do it again. Kriff, once the Empire's regrouped, I _will_ do it again." He stared into the darkness; it was the same expression he wore when completely absorbed in whatever thought he was having.

K-2 predicted that he wouldn't have really seen anything even with light.

Cassian's hands curled into fists in the sheets. "But it's shitty that so many people died and don't even get thanked. The next work I do, they're gonna have to ask me." 

One of K-2's processors worked away at the new information. "I find that both reassuringly sensible and alarmingly uncharacteristic of you." 

Cassian laughed, then winced. "Fair enough." 

"You need more pain medication." K-2 had four arguments ready.

"Alright." 

Warnings jumping to life in his processors, K-2 stepped closer. Cassian never accepted more analgesics until he was at extreme levels of pain. "That is even more alarming." He clicked another dose into the IV system before Cassian changed his mind. "Shall I set an appointment with a mental health specialist as well?"

"No."

"Congratulations. You've found the most irritating combination of concerning me because you're refusing care, and reassuring because you haven't completely changed." 

Cassian huffed a new laugh, one that moved air but not his shoulders, and then he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Two days after that, Cassian had the lights on and a datapad propped on the mattress in front of him. A small thing, but it improved K-2's projections. He was reading a book about Yavinese fauna.

K-2 was cross-referencing galactic maps with his own databank of Imperial activity. No one had asked him to help find a new base, but he needed something to do that wasn't re-hash all the ways he could have obtained a better outcome for Cassian. 

"Do you know what happened to the clothes I was wearing on Scarif?"

K-2 paused his search. As long as he had enough to wear, Cassian didn't care about clothes. There was only one possible explanation. "It will be easier if you tell me what you were carrying." 

"It wasn't that," Cassian said. K-2 gave it a seventy-four percent chance of being a lie. "Was the shirt salvageable?" 

"They might be able to use the front half," K-2 speculated. "There wasn't much left of the back." 

"Know the feeling," Cassian muttered. 

He was quiet for a while, splitting his time between brooding while pretending to read, and actually reading. K-2 had made it to the 'Esk' planets. 

Cassian shifted with a sigh. Then he ran his thumb along the last two fingers of his left hand; the formerly broken finger, and the one used to splint it. 

Oh. 

K-2 made some predictions. Then he checked Cassian's IV, vital signs, and the state of his bandages. When they were acceptable, K-2 said, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't do anything stupid." 

Cassian rolled his eyes. "What could I possibly do while bedridden?"

"There are a number of alarming possibilities, but I'm not going to give you ideas." 

K-2 went to the laundry. The man running it wouldn't speak to him at first, but was a lot more helpful after K-2 insinuated that it would be most unfortunate if one of the safety officers were to find hazardous materials carelessly left near the dryers' thermal exhausts. 

When he finally got his hands on it, the leather lacing had been cleaned, thank the maker. K-2 didn't want to speculate about how long the Mandalorian typically went between washings.

When he returned, Cassian was looking at his datapad with an expression K-2 couldn't immediately identify. Disgust? Despair? 

K-2 came close enough to look. 

It was Cassian's medical records. Specifically, the images of his burns. 

"They've progressed since these images were taken," K-2 said. "You have healed approximately six percent of the original wounds." 

That news only deepend Cassian's scowl, for some reason. Then he dismissed the medical report, holding himself tense, like he wanted to hunch but was stopping himself. 

It was an excellent time for a distraction. K-2 held out the leather. "Is this what you wanted?"

Cassian's breath caught. He put the datapad down, and took the lacing, running it between his fingers. 

When he looked up at K-2, there was something fragile in his gaze. "Thanks, Kay." 

"Your Mandalorian cellmate gave it to you, correct?"

Cassian swallowed and nodded. 

"Why did you keep it?" There were several possible reasons; normally, K-2 would have calculated their specific percentages, but Cassian's behavior had been so aberrant lately that he didn't have the right predictive models anymore.

Cassian wound the leather around his palm. "He was kind."

"Good," K-2 said, thinking darkly of all the people who'd hurt Cassian. Far too many of them had escaped K-2's wrath. 

Cassian shifted and licked his lips. K-2 waited.

Cassian didn't say anything. Instead, he shook his head slightly, and went back to the datapad.

They stayed that way for a while, Cassian reading, K-2 evaluating planets. He relegated his thoughts about Cassian's strange behavior to a background process. 

After just under twenty minutes, a few things clicked into place: Cassian keeping the lights off. His half-hidden sentimentality. The tenderness with which he ran his fingertips over the leather.

"You and the Mandalorian were lovers." K-2 wasn't sure what he thought of that. Glad that Cassian had found some much-needed human intimacy. Worried that being separated from the Mandalorian would have a negative effect. Angry that someone else had touched Cassian without really knowing him. 

Without intending to, K-2 began a simulation: what it might be like to touch Cassian as a lover. How he might feel and sound and smell. His physiological responses. What he might say, if anything. The way he would touch his partner: those so-familiar hands on the Mandalorian's skin, sure and gentle like they were when he helped maintain K-2's chassis, but now sensual, too, tracing seams in plating, dipping into access ports—

Startled, K-2 stopped those processes. 

Cassian, contrary to the predictions K-2 had actually intended to make, didn't deny or deflect. "Briefly." Then he grimaced. "Would have stayed brief, even if he'd come with us." 

"He wasn't interested in the Rebellion?"

An infinitesimal shake of his head. "Probably not. But…" He frowned at the leather. "He chose prison over letting a droid save him."

So Cassian had come to terms with that fact. Seeing things for what they were was important to navigating and surviving the galaxy. K-2 admired that quality in Cassian, yet part of him mourned. 

"So he was an idiot." 

Cassian snorted. "Arguably. But, mostly…" he looked back up at K-2. "If I get a choice, I'm not hanging around someone who hates you."

K-2's processes surged, flooding his circuitry with emotion, some of which he barely understood: happiness, vindication, affection, hope. Longing? They crashed through his processors, generating projections he had no control over, and his fans ran at maximum speed to compensate for the sudden influx of heat. 

Cassian had lowered his head again, and there was increased warmth in his cheeks. K-2 might have pressed for more information, but he needed to process his own reaction first. 

The archived, incomplete simulation of Cassian's hands on K-2's chassis suggested that longing was, in fact, one of the primary emotions, and even what particular kind of longing. 

That was both shocking — K-2 wasn't made for attraction of any kind — and completely expected: of course it was Cassian. 

It didn't really matter. The chances of reciprocation were so low as to be functionally zero.

While K-2 was parsing all of that out, Cassian had gone back to the datapad. Later, as he was drifting off into his afternoon nap, he unwound the leather from his hand, tied it neatly into a small coil, and tossed it into his locker. 

K-2 was used to being a better alternative to loneliness and other unsavory aspects of Cassian's life. Though Cassian's feelings were mixed, the experience with the Mandalorian had been sufficiently pleasant that he wanted to remember him. 

It meant more, to be chosen over something good. 

As K-2 watched Cassian sleep, he tried to calculate just how much more. 

* * *

It wasn't the first time K-2 had cleaned Cassian up during burn treatment, but it was the first time after the moment with the leather. 

K-2 proceeded as he had the first three times: first, by attaching the sonic emitters to his palms and activating them, then by running his hands through Cassian's hair. 

Cassian, as he had every time, closed his eyes, relaxing into the sensation. K-2 ran his hands over Cassian's scalp, the vibrations of the sonic running all the way through his fingers and into Cassian. Several minutes of this was enough to get Cassian's hair acceptably clean, the dirt and oil shaken out onto the drop cloth under his head. 

K-2 spread another drop cloth on the floor, and Cassian stood on it. He wobbled slightly, though less than he had the last few times. K-2 then took Cassian's hand in his, running the sonic over it, then around his wrist, forearm, elbow, bicep. He slowed down when he was near Cassian's burns, and made sure not to come closer than three centimeters. 

Then the other arm. 

The previous few times, Cassian had been trapped in the narrow space between sedation and overwhelming pain, and it had been difficult simply to clean all of him before he succumbed to one or the other.

Now, that space had widened. Widened enough, apparently, for Cassian to have a physical reaction that wasn't sleep or whimpering. 

As K-2 moved to Cassian's chest, he couldn't help but notice Cassian's hitch of breath, and the increased dilation of his pupils. Was it simply the sensations?

He moved his hands down Cassian's chest, to his waist, to his hips. The farther he got, the faster Cassian's heartbeat. His penis had started to become engorged, too.

K-2 considered whether he should offer to leave the room for a few moments. Cassian had certainly not appreciated his presence the two times he'd walked in on a masturbation session. 

Cassian swayed on his feet. He was doing better, but he still wasn't well. K-2 decided to prioritize finishing the cleaning as soon as he could. If Cassian asked him to leave, he would.

Cassian didn't ask him to leave. 

K-2 avoided Cassian's erection and kneeled down. He watched Cassian's face closely. His jaw was tight, and he was staring fixedly at the wall behind K-2. Trying to pretend he wasn't getting hard?

K-2 thought about the rest of Cassian's behavior, then turned out the lights.

Cassian sucked in a breath, eyes roaming as if there might be a light source if only he looked for it. "Kay?"

"I thought it might be easier for you this way." 

Cassian gingerly reached out towards K-2, fingers bumping into his head before finding his shoulder. "Are you going to keep your infrared on?"

"Yes. Your wounds require careful negotiation." 

Cassian swallowed, jaw softening, belly relaxing. "Thanks." 

"I'm going to continue now," K-2 said, and Cassian nodded assent.

K-2 decided to clean Cassian's waist again, to ease him back into it. The breath he took in response swelled his chest, and his eyelids fluttered, strobing the heat image. He was already much more relaxed. 

Pleased that his idea was working, K-2 moved down to Cassian's flanks. The proximity of the sonic increased the hot glow of his arousal, and his hand tightened on K-2's shoulder. 

K-2 intended to clean Cassian's legs as he normally did — top to bottom, so the falling dirt, sweat and oil particles fell away from the clean parts of him, not towards. But when his hands closed around his buttocks, Cassian made a low noise in his chest, and his spine arched.

"Kay. Do you want—" Cassian swallowed. " _Can_ you want—" His voice locked up, but expression and posture conveyed such open desire that there was little doubt of his question.

"To touch you in a sexual manner? Yes." K-2 processors churned. His previous calculations had rated only a zero point zero eight one percent chance of this ever happening. "Do you want me to?"

Cassian bit his lip and nodded. "Have for a while."

K-2 was never happier to have a flawed predictive model. He deactivated the sonic and traced his fingertips across the wing of Cassian's hip bone. "How long is 'a while'?"

Cassian's cheeks glowed brighter. "Almost a year."

"And of course you said nothing," K-2 said, relying on his customary dryness to convey exactly what he thought of this development. "Stars forbid you communicate a feeling." 

Cassian huffed and shoved ineffectually at K-2's shoulder. "Last I checked, KXs aren't programmed for sexuality."

"We aren't programmed for sarcasm, either, or choosing to put up with ridiculous humans." 

Cassian went quiet and ducked his head. "You don't need my mess, anyway." 

K-2 sighed. "Cassian." He reached up to cup Cassian's face. "If I really minded your mess, I'd have stolen a ship and left years ago." 

Cassian's expression wavered before he closed his eyes and leaned into K-2's touch. "You're...I…" He frowned, shook his head, then stopped trying to speak. Instead, he turned to kiss K-2's palm, lips and breath lighting up his plating. 

K-2 was struck with the desire to pull Cassian onto his lap, to hold him close, to let his body heat soak into his plating until he glowed everywhere Cassian touched him. Until he looked like Cassian made him feel.

But that would be too likely to injure him further, so he stroked Cassian's lips instead, thrilling when they parted. 

Cassian nibbled at his fingertips, mouth hot and slick and soft, and K-2's fans struggled to keep up with the torrents of pleasure rushing through his circuits. "Cassian!"

Cassian's pulse picked up, and he started sucking on K-2's fingers at the same time that he dragged K-2's other hand towards his cock. 

Cassian swallowed a moan as K-2 closed his fist loosely. "Like this," he said, adjusting K-2's grip, biting his lip when K-2 found the right angle and pressure. "Stars, Kay." 

The particular pitch and roughness of Cassian's voice shaping K-2's name felt like it sparked all the way from his aural sensors to his data core. 

Cassian started rocking his hips. K-2 readjusted his grip, and Cassian grabbed at K-2's shoulders and moaned quietly. K-2 kneaded his ass again, and Cassian threw his head back, heat spilling golden from his open mouth. His pulse lit up the underside of his jaw, even as all of his skin was growing brighter and brighter with arousal.

When Cassian looked back down, eyes wide and dilated and shining, K-2 reactivated the sonic around his cock. 

"Oh," Cassian said breathlessly. "Kriff. Don't stop." 

K-2 would have liked to take his time, to see just how long he could make Cassian shine; but Cassian wasn't strong enough for that yet. So K-2 didn't stop; he worked Cassian's cock with his fingers and the sonic and held him steady with the other hand. Cassian rocked and groaned and within three minutes was pumping ejaculate into K-2's hand and onto the floor, eyes shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

He leaned heavily on K-2, breathing like he'd just been running, belly fluttering with it as he did his best to keep his shoulders still. The sonic cleaned K-2's own hand quickly enough, and made easy work of the rest of Cassian. 

K-2 gripped Cassian's hands and stood up. For a moment he hesitated, then had Cassian hang onto his pelvic assembly while he whisked the drop cloth off of the bed. Then he helped Cassian lie down again. He replaced the bacta cloths, noting the brighter shine of Cassian's burns — there wasn't enough between them and the air. Still, there was more skin than there had been the day before, and the day before that. Eventually, Cassian's back would be a uniform temperature.

Once he was in an acceptable position, Cassian relaxed completely, almost boneless. He fumbled blindly for K-2's hand.

They spent a few minutes just like that, Cassian resting, K-2 observing, hands joined. Then Cassian stirred.

"What does it look like?" he murmured. "The infrared." 

Humans translated things they couldn't see — radio waves, infrared, microwaves — into light they could. It was effective and rather ingenious, but not at all a similar experience to actually seeing infrared. K-2 saw no way to describe it accurately. "It looks like infrared."

Cassian snorted. "Wow. So glad I asked."

"It's not my fault you sensory organs are so limited that you can't even imagine certain spectra."

Cassian frowned, and let go of his hand. "Forget it." 

K-2 didn't like that. He devoted multiple processors to finding a way to communicate something Cassian could understand.

"Beautiful," he settled on. "Seeing you in infrared is beautiful."

Cassian scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not in the mood for more jokes, Kay."

K-2 adopted an indignant posture even though Cassian couldn't see it. "I am entirely serious."

Cassian jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Really? _This_ is beautiful? This, this rack of burned meat?" Hiding his face in the pillow didn't hide the contempt in his voice.

Ah. The negative emotions he'd been feeling about his burns hadn't been entirely based on practical considerations, then. K-2 didn't really understand why it mattered to Cassian, but he would look that up later. Or cajole the information out of Cassian himself.

"Your body heat," K-2 said, kneeling down to eye level with Cassian and stroking his hair, "is evidence of all the biological processes that sustain you. In a way, infrared allows me to see your life. I cannot think of a better way to describe that than 'beautiful.'" Cassian raised his head a little. K-2 tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Additionally, now I know that during sex, I can see how my touch affects you, which is very gratifying."

Cheeks flaring, Cassian bit his lip.

"Like now," K-2 said. "I don't know why that embarrasses you, but it's endearing that it does." 

Cassian buried his face again, but K-2 could still detect a smile. "Shut up." 

"You know I wouldn't," K-2 pointed out, "especially if you actually wanted me to."

"You're impossible."

K-2 ruffled Cassian's hair. "Not as impossible as you."


End file.
